Freedom From A Forsaken Life
by Cheyenne2
Summary: Elrond discovers another race in Middle-earth: The Forsaken Ones. He becomes fascinated by these creatures, despite their deadly nature. As Fate would have it, he comes upon a very unique half-elf who desires the Lord of Imladris' help.
1. Chapter I

First story I have actually bothered to TRY and bring to words. If you think it's worth reviewing, please do so, and nicely heh.  
  
Oh yeh, I'm not Tolkien. Therefore, I don't own any of the characters used, and I don't any of the locations. Wouldn't mind though.  
  
Meh, on with the story..  
  
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~  
  
"The Forsaken Ones" -include beings of Hobbit, Human, Dwarven, and Elven race.  
  
"Forsaken ones are creatures of the night. They cannot exist by daylight, for Anar's rays burn the creatures from within and turn their bodies to ashes. They are neither living nor dead, and few know about their past. Even the very place of their origin is yet unknown. They are deadly, though they are scarce and rare to come upon. When one does come to face that of a Forsaken One, there is little hope to see one of the living again, for they feed on the blood of the four races from which they came.  
Forsaken Ones differ in appearance to the living, and hold similarities to themselves only; whether they are of Hobbit, Human, Dwarven, or Elven descent. They have deep black hair, and empty, piercing black eyes. Their skin is a silvery-black color; thus they blend well into the darkness of the night. They have great speed and strength, and their vision is unsurpassable. They are more than capable of piercing the thickest shadows. Their stealth is well-developed; even greater than that of an Elf, and only the most skilled are able to detect the footsteps of a Forsaken One.  
There is a slight transformation when they feed; their eyes grow crimson red with the desire and need for blood, and their teeth grow long and sharp to pierce the skin to draw the one thing they need the most.  
They are also immortal and can only be slain by the separation of Mind and Body. They are emotionless and incapable of feeling any physical pain.  
No one knows what awaits these creatures of the night after death, for a spirit exists not in the Forsaken Ones."  
  
Elrond Peredhil lifted his grey eyes from the crinkled manuscript, which threatened to crumble between his fingers. Astonished at the discovery of another race dwelling in Middle-earth, he leaned back in his chair with thoughts racing through his mind.  
  
The half-elf had devoted the entire reign of Isil to his books, refueling his mind with lore and knowledge when he had come across the manuscript hidden between the pages of the oldest book in his possession. It fluttered to the floor then, and Elrond could not help but wonder. Upon reading it, he discovered the existence of the Forsaken Ones.  
  
And now it was morning. The Lord of Imladris, Rivendell in the Common Tongue, looked out to greet the golden Anar, guided by the fiery- eyed Arien, who was now climbing the clear blue sky of Arda. The half-elf breathed a sigh of weariness, and breathed in the cool air of Autumn, refreshing both mind and body.  
  
The son of Eärendil was very handsome to behold; his soft, jet- black hair was spun of silk, and wrapped round his tall, lithe body. At the moment, his ebony locks were held back with a clip made of mithril, revealing the pointed, leaf-like ears and the strong, yet gentle face. His skin was fair and smooth, and he held a youthful appearance; as all elves do. Only his eyes betrayed him, for the grey pools reflected the loss and wisdom only an elf as old as he could have obtained. Right now, these exquisite orbs were slowly glazing over as Elrond mused with great intensity and concentration.  
  
"Forsaken.. creatures of the night.. emotionless.. without a spirit.." The words slipped from the half-elf's rosy lips without realizing it. Eyes glazed over, he mumbled again, "How could I have not known?"  
  
"Father?"  
  
For the first time in 2000 years, the normally composed Lord of Imladris was startled out of his mind. He gave a small yelp of surprise and knocked over his chair during his hurry to get up. Whirling around, he found his daughter, Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar of their people, staring back at him with bewilderment and confusion clearly etched in her beautiful face.  
  
Heart still pounding, Elrond regarded his daughter. Yes, the Evenstar truly was beautiful. Long, wavy black hair inherited from her father cascaded past her shoulders and hugged her slim waist. The silken strands framed a fair, half-elven face. Exquisite eyes looked at him with unspoken questions. and concern was swimming freely in the deep blue eyes.  
  
"Father?" she repeated in her melodic voice.  
  
A soft sigh of relief was her answer; though why she knew not.  
  
Continued, maybe? 


	2. Chapter II

Thanks for the reviews; I really didn't think this would be worth it (  
  
Again, I am NOT Tolkien. I don't own any of his works. Besides, I could never write like him.  
  
Elvish in -( " '..."  
  
Onwards!!!  
  
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~  
  
Seeing as her father made no further attempt to speak, Arwen spoke to Elrond in the Elvish tongue.  
  
" 'Ada, is all well?"  
  
Her brow wrinkled then, and her eyes swam once more with concern. 'Twas a very rare thing for the Lord of Imladris to be startled so. Arwen could only remember one other time she had seen her father as the opposite of the noble Lord he appeared to be.. and that had been when her mother had left.  
  
Another sigh was her answer. The Evenstar's mouth pursed at the corners; the impatience of her Human blood threatened to show itself.  
  
A few more agonizing moments passed, and the anxiety was beginning to overcome the daughter of Elrond.  
  
" 'All is well, my daughter. You merely surprised me." came Elrond's reply; spoken in a slightly hoarse voice. He seemed to sense his out-of-character behavior, and the Lord of Imladris slowly composed himself and his nobility began to show once more.  
  
He spoke again, but this time in a more authoritative tone, " 'Had I not told you, at one time, to knock before entering?"  
  
There was silence then, and unwelcome tension grew in the unusually stuffy room.  
  
" 'I did, Ada." The tension broke as soon as Arwen said her words. " 'I knocked thrice before entering to make my presence known."  
  
Puzzlement reflected in the deep blue orbs of the Evenstar, and it seems for a moment that she was a mother looking after her child; rather than a daughter worrying for her father.  
  
The Lord of Imladris could barely keep himself from breaking at Arwen's slight transformation. She had looked so much like her mother, Celebrían, in that shifting moment. Elrond forced down the silver tears that were threatening to overflow, and could only manage a single word: " 'Oh..."  
  
Arwen's face immediately softened, and her eyes now shone with sympathy, understanding, and her own grief. Elrond had let his guard down when he had looked in her eyes, thus allowing her to see past the brimming grey eyes into the depths of his soul. There, Arwen had seen the overwhelming love and longing that he still felt for her mother. She hadn't meant to re-awaken that pain, and she was certain that her face now reflected the same loss of a loved one that showed on her father's face.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ada.", she whispered, switching back to the Common Tongue. "Forgive me, I did not mean to remind you of her."  
  
The grief-stricken half-elf nodded, choking back a sob as one of he and Celebrían's last memories came back to him.  
  
--------------------------------------- -------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
FLASHBACK:  
  
" 'Celebrían," whispered Elrond, " 'Celebrían, I can heal this. I just need time." The peredhel grasped his elven-wife's sickly pale hand.  
  
" 'I just need time," he repeated, closing his grey eyes and hanging his head, letting his ebony locks flow over his face.  
  
" 'Elrond," came her weak whisper; a mere shadow of its former strength, " 'there is no time....."  
  
The half-elf froze at this. His blood turned to ice and his eyes snapped open and widened in horror.  
  
"No.. Celebrían.. please, don't give up like this!" he pleaded in the Common Tongue. He tightened his hold on his wife's hand, as if to emphasize his point. "Please.."  
  
"Elrond, if you cannot heal me, then no one can.. at least, not in Middle- earth."  
  
"You will pass into the West then." Elrond bitterly replied. He restrained from breaking his voice, but his tactics failed, as Celebrían winced at the sorrow in it. He continued, "You would leave us, just like that? Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen... me?"  
  
"I don't have a choice, melethron nîn..."  
  
"You ALWAYS have a choice!!" the half-elf exploded; his grief already grabbing hold on him. "Celebrían, my beloved wife, I swear to thee, I can heal you!!"  
  
"And what if you can't, Elrond?? Your treatments have had little or no results! Would you sacrifice my life for just a few more moments together?!" Power rumbled in Celebrían's slighter stronger voice, and for just a second she looked healthy again... but for just a second.  
  
She collapsed back into the soft bed, and welcomed the embrace of the silk sheets. Her outburst had taken a bulk of her energy, and she feared it would go to waste if Elrond still would not budge.  
  
Silence hung in the air. The daughter of Galadriel gazed up weakly to that of her husband, the son of Eärendil, trying to meet his eyes. At long last, she succeeded.  
  
Elrond was entranced by her beauty, as he was when he first laid eyes on her so long ago. The daughter of the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood has inherited much of their beauty, and her own enhanced it. Celebrían had the silver hair of her Sindarin father, and the dark eyes of the Noldor; though they were not blue, as her mother's. But she did have the same intense gaze as Galadriel.  
  
Celebrían also had fair, smooth, porcelain skin, and a delicately sculpted face. She moved with all the grace of her people, and the blood of an elven-warrior ran throughout her veins, although she suppressed it and rarely allowed it to show in her actions.  
  
Elrond sighed, weary with grief and loss. He knew it was useless to argue; his wife had also inherited the stubbornness from her half- Telerin mother.  
  
But Celebrían was right; if he were not able to heal her, no one in Middle-earth could. He would not allow his love to die at the expense of a few more precious moments with her by his side.  
  
"Elrond," she breathed, "Elrond, we both have the blood of the Elves running through our veins. We both have the immortal life of the First- born. We have all the time in the world to be together. The distance between here and Valinor will never lessen our love." She lifted her pale, ashen hands, and cupped her husband's wet cheeks. "I swear to thee, melethron nîn, I will wait for you."  
  
More silver tears slipped from the half-elf's stormy grey orbs, and he leaned forward and down, placing a loving kiss on Celebrían's dry, rosy lips.  
  
A week later, he kissed these same lips good-bye as his love boarded the ship at the Grey Havens. He watched as she sailed away to Valinor for healing and peace... And he watched with blurry, brimming eyes as she departed from Middle-earth forever, leaving a gaping hole in Elrond's broken heart  
  
END OF FLASHBACK --------------------------------------- -------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
TBC... soon. 


	3. Chapter III

Well, here's another new chapter! I agree; there's not a lot about Elrond and Celebrían's relationship. Figured I might as well bring some of my own ideas in. Forgive me if the characters don't quite seem like themselves.  
  
And the 'very unique half-elf' comes into play in this chapter =)  
  
Oh yeh, I want to make something clear before I get asked about it.  
  
I realize that there IS a group of elves who have named themselves, "The Forsaken", due to the fact that they were abandoned on the shores of Beleriand at the end of the Great Journey (Silmarillion). Please don't confuse them with my Forsaken Ones.  
  
Also, I'll be using the term, "Pereglan", for my elf, in later chapters most probably. Pereglan is supposed to mean, "Half-Forsaken". Suits well, eh?  
  
I'm not Tolkien, so I don't own Middle-earth, and its inhabitants. I only own that elf that you won't recognize.  
  
Anyways, on with the story.  
  
" '.." : Elvish /.../ : Thoughts  
  
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~  
  
Arwen watched in renewed sorrow as Elrond relived that painful memory. Crystalline tears slipped down the Evenstar's fair face as she took her father's grief into her own.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Ada.. Forgive me."  
  
"There is nothing to forgive, my daughter. It was her choice to make, not ours." The half-elf turned his grief-twisted face away, and looked out once more to the fiery Anar; perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of Celebrían's own bright, sparkling eyes.  
  
He looked with watering grey pools and regarded the outskirts of his realm with forced concentration.  
  
Arwen Undómiel knew not to distract him. She knew that Celebrían's departure devastated him; it had the same effect on her children. The Evenstar could still clearly recall that fateful day...  
  
But Arwen dared not trudge back to that sorrowful memory. She would not allow her father to see her in such a state, lest she brought him down also. But her body dared to betray her. Diamond tears formed in the corners of Arwen's eyes and forced themselves to slide down, leaving a clear, shining trail for all to see.  
  
"I will leave you, Father. I.. I will return. There is something I must speak to you about..."  
  
Then she turned and fled, so quickly that she missed the empty whisper of her father's words: "Yes, you will leave me.. and you will not return...."  
  
Elrond grimaced, outside as well as in. He knew that Arwen had given her heart to his foster son, and he knew that Estel had given his to her as well. The half-elf knew all too well that one day, Arwen would choose to be numbered amongst the Mortal Men.  
  
And so she would follow the fate of Luthien Tinuviel, whom Arwen has been said to be the incarnation of.  
  
"To follow a mortal into death.." Elrond mumbled, unbeknownst to another presence in his room.  
  
" 'Your daughter follows her heart, Lord Elrond Peredhil."  
  
For the second that day, within the same hour, the half-elf was once again frightened out of his very skin. He whirled around, his robes moving slower than him and whipping around his lithe body as his movements stopped.  
  
There, standing in the shadows of his room, was the most unusual she-elf he had ever laid his eyes upon.  
  
Though it was not her beauty which made her seem unusual. No, she was as fair as all elves were.  
  
Rather, this elf had long black, stick straight hair reaching far down her back with silver streaks hiding amongst the silken strands. She was tall, very tall; nearly taller than Elrond himself, he decided. Her hair, at the moment, was divided into seven braids and was tied with long pieces of grey cloth. They were undoubtedly made quickly and carelessly, for many a strand was loose from its plaited confinements.  
  
The she-elf was dressed in plain clothing, yet somehow they seemed fit for her; she radiated the essence of a wanderer, who had neither need nor desire for things of luxury... which Elrond, whether he admitted it or not, exploited without a second thought.  
  
She wore a sleeveless, faded grey shirt; worn with years of endless use. Her leggings were black, and looked as worn as her shirt. A belt, looking to all the world as an unraveling knot of string that would surely fail with a whisper of the wind, looped her slim waist, and a soft pair of light, black boots was on her feet.  
  
Vambraces; leather, brown, and well used, were around her lower arms, but her upper arm was bare and it displayed intricate black designs on her skin. Elrond could see that they continued to splay across her body beneath her clothing  
  
But it was her eyes that held his curiosity longer; they were shining like diamonds in the darkness where no light could reach them. No elf could ever obtain eyes like that, not even the most keen-sighted.  
  
She stepped forward, and revealed her true self as she was in the light of day.  
  
Elrond gasped and stepped back in unison with the other's movement. This ..elf had golden-brown skin and silver eyes. Never before had the Lord of Imladris seen this combination.. He had never even seen it alone. Silver eyes did not exist among the Children of Iluvatar, nor did the bronze skin. Not even a human possessed that particular color, let alone an elf. All the First-born bore the fair, porcelain skin given by Eru himself.  
  
Now that she was no longer hidden amongst the shadows, her face was now visible to all who looked upon her. It revealed the strong jaw line, and the proud face that looked like it would kill anyone who dared cross her path. Only then did Elrond notice the supple bow and quiver of arrows slung across her back, and the twin pairs of elvish knives.  
  
Hidden beneath strands of silver hair were 3 long scars nearly the whole length of her face, marring the skin over her right eye.  
  
" 'I did not expect for you to become this astonished, Elrond. I'd have expected this from your children, yes, but not from you." The form in front of him spoke, staring him straight in the eye, reaching deep into the grey depths of his soul.  
  
Elrond suppressed a shudder; her gaze was even more unnerving and intense than his wife and her mother, Galadriel.  
  
" 'What... who are you?" he managed to say.  
  
The golden-skinned elf laughed; a melodious laugh, yet this did not help to lighten Elrond's heavy heart.  
  
" 'There is not a doubt that you have read the manuscript concerning the Forsaken Ones, Lord Elrond. Therein lays your answer to my being." She answered in a warm tone with frost at the edges, and she then turned swiftly, and made as if to leave him in his shaking state.  
  
" 'Wait.." came the soft plea from the stricken half-elf. " 'Will you tell me your name?"  
  
The she-elf gazed at Elrond who was trying not to break under the intensity of her stare.  
  
" 'Very well," she said," my name is Ethuil, but I would rather if you refer to me as Lanthir ."  
  
This time, when she turned to leave, there were no interruptions; Elrond had frozen still as a statue as her previous words implanted themselves in the half-elf's mind.  
  
/Forsaken..?!/  
  
Ethuil glanced over her painted shoulder as she rounded the last corner before disappearing into the shadows of the halls once more, but Elrond paid no notice.  
  
/Maybe it was not the best decision to tell him so soon./ she thought.  
  
She let out a sigh, tinged with regret, and resumed walking until she came to welcome the golden rays of Anar embracing her own golden-brown skin.  
  
TBC... soon. 


End file.
